Chapter 175
Chapter 175
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 175
Chapter Title: Hassan Learning Aura
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Srrk, srrrk.
I always tie the knot at my waistband in a complicated, tight manner.
No particular reason—just that it puts my mind somewhat at ease.
It was obvious anyone trying to untie it would have a hell of a time.
Srrk, srrrk.
So why was I thinking about knots right now? Because Antiope, Hippolyte’s sister, was kneeling in front of me with a completely expressionless face, untying the one at my waist.
“Why’s this tied so damn tight? It won’t come undone.”
“No, what are you doing right now?”
“You said you were getting oral from my sister?”
I couldn’t make heads or tails of what Antiope was saying—my brain froze up solid.
Then it hit me: a simple misunderstanding from similar-sounding words. But curiosity about what might happen next kept me still.
She smacked my thigh with her palm and stood up.
“Just kidding.”
I flinched hard, like I’d taken a slap to the half-risen dick.
“Gyaek!”
“What’s with the stiffening up? Think I’m gonna eat you or something?”
Oh, just a shitty joke.
She knew I’d get it but toyed with me anyway?
I retied the half-loosened knot, stewing in anger. How dare she play with my feelings.
Did she think she could mess with a guy’s heart just because she was pretty?
Did she believe making me mad meant she controlled my emotions?
It reminded me of that delinquent girl from my freshman college days who bullied me, and rage boiled up.
She kept teasing and pinching me—enough that I once asked if she liked me.
What?
The look she gave me back then is still a slight trauma. Anyway, women who use their pretty faces as shields to toy with men’s hearts are no different from my enemies.
“Aw, pissed off? Don’t be mad. I’ll do something even better for you.”
“Even better?”
But beauty gets a pass. Shit, her pretty face melted my anger quick. They say being born a beautiful woman is like passing the civil service exam.
I get it instantly. Men are pathetic creatures, wired unable to resist pretty girls....
“Better how...?”
“Of course, that was a lie too. Sorry if you got your hopes up. Consider it punishment for waking me from my morning sleep.”
Fuck.
Not even mad anymore. My fault for coming early.
“So, where’s Lady Hippolyte?”
“Morning walk. She’ll be back soon. Wait here.”
I considered leaving, but since she’d be back any minute, I decided to wait as Antiope said. Awkward being alone with this stranger, I just stared blankly into space.
“You’re getting aura lessons from my sister, right?”
The silence must’ve been awkward for her too—Antiope spoke first.
“Just starting to learn it now.”
“Oh yeah?”
Her deep navy eyes narrowed at my words.
“You look decently skilled.”
And that ended the conversation.
Soon, in one corner of this cramped single room, she started slipping off her clothes with a rustle. I jolted, wondering why, but she was just changing.
The tattoos covering her back, hips, and thighs were eye-searingly dense.
She didn’t care a man was in the room?
Noticing my sneaky glances out of curiosity, she spoke.
“Cool, right?”
“What?”
“My artwork. Took five years to etch all this karma into me.”
Five years—short or long? I wasn’t sure, so I just nodded along moderately.
“I see. Five years. That’s a long time.”
“Right? Put a ton of effort into it.”
To me, it was just “huh, okay,” but Antiope spoke of the tattoos on her body like they were her pride and joy.
She’d said they depicted her achievements and karma, right?
Looking at her exposed back, it felt like glimpsing a resume fragment.
A self-introduction packed tight with listed experience. Yeah, if you had that many accomplishments, you’d flaunt it. No wonder she paraded around so exposed.
From our chat, I got a read on this new Amazoness: brimming with confidence in every way—total opposite of me.
I’m closer to a big, nerdy loser; she’s the delinquent girl shaking me down. And I’m weak to delinquent types.
Probably why I’m vulnerable to witches too.
When’s Hippolyte coming? She feels more like a dedicated track girl than a playful delinquent, so she’s a bit better.
Sitting on the corner chair, feeling a touch anxious, the tattooed girl—now in her usual maximally revealing outfit—said,
“Wanna touch?”
“...Pardon?”
“My tattoos.”
“Is that okay...?”
“Yeah. Waiting like this is boring anyway.”
She had a point. Felt off just sitting, so I reached out toward her body.
But unsure where or how, I just lightly traced her left shoulder with a finger.
Then something amazing happened.
Shhh.
The image on her shoulder started moving.
“Shit, that startled me.”
“Cool, huh? Touch it, and it moves. The one on my left shoulder’s probably the story of when I took down the one-eyed giant Gorgas.”
I peered closely at her shoulder as she spoke. There, a woman with a long spear stabbing a cyclops giant played out like a looping puppet show.
Fuck, insanely cool.
Didn’t expect video media in this world.
“This... is it the power of Grace?”
“Yeah. I draw pictures on my body to absorb their power. That’s the strength of my Grace, ‘War Song.’”
“Ahh. So how do you draw spots your back or sides can’t reach?”
“Get help from others for that. But the rest? Secret.”
“Got it.”
It’d been a while since I met another Grace holder. Her ability, so different from my handiwork Grace, fascinated me.
So I touched more places. Each animating image told its own story—fun to watch.
Plus, the primal thrill of touching a young, pretty woman’s body made time fly nicely.
Srrk, srrrk.
Only up close did I notice: Antiope’s toned body bore a ton of scars.
Her sister and fellow warrior Hippolyte had minor ones too, but Antiope’s were worse. Tattoos hid them well, but visible this near.
“Those scars bothering you? Got that one from a double-headed hound’s fang. Still aches on rainy days.”
She noticed my finger on her shoulder scar. Right then—srrrk—black ink smeared onto my hand.
Fuck, what?
The tattoo was gone.
Shit, why’d it erase? Designed to?
I panicked hard.
Pretending nothing, I casually scratched my head and pulled my hand back, asking offhand,
“So, do the images etched on your body ever fade?”
“This is karma sunk deep into my flesh. No way it erases. Can’t even if I wanted to.”
“Ah, I see.”
Fuck, I’m screwed.
My eyes saw the ink-smeared, distorted image. Shit, how’d I erase an uneraseable tattoo?
Must be how bathhouse attendants feel accidentally scrubbing one off.
“Anyway, you. Feels pretty good having you rub my shoulder. Know massage or something?”
“Kinda...”
“Perfect. Massage my shoulders till sis gets back. Fair trade for letting you touch my art.”
She wants payment for touching her body? Fair demand. But I felt uneasy about massaging her—might erase more tattoos.
Shit, what if another one goes?
“Come on, rub. You can’t use aura, but massage should be fine.”
Oblivious to my worry, she turned her back fully and plopped her butt on the floor.
“Alright, just a little, gently then.”
“Yeah, no big expectations—do it rough.”
“I won’t take responsibility for anything that happens.”
“Massage? What could go wrong? You’re hilarious. Built like a tiger but total scaredy-cat. Makes me wanna bully you—”
She chuckled “hu hu hu.”
I slowly placed my palms on her shoulders.
Srrk.
Solid muscles for a woman, but slimmer build than Hippolyte.
Squeeze.
Thumb and index gripped lightly—nice elastic rebound. Shoulders are knotted, yeah.
“Mmm, yeah, like that.”
Srrk, srrrk.
I pressed and stimulated the shoulder well points.
“This pressure good?”
“Ahh, what? Pretty good...? Not like the royal masseuses, but... huff, huuu....”
As I worked her shoulders, she panted hot breaths like in pain. Normally, that feminine moan would stiffen my dick right up.
But no room for that now.
Reason: right under my palms, every tattoo on her body was visibly erasing.
Fuck, didn’t she say it was karma carved deep? Unerasable? Why’s it vanishing?
Thinking back, the deep-seated conditions I heal with acupressure were called incurable by normal healing magic—some karma bullshit too.
My Grace.
Stronger than hers?
“Mmmph, slow, ha—. Pretty good, real good. Good....”
My mind raced with thoughts, but my hands dutifully kneaded her nape, shoulders, and the hard-to-reach spots below the scapula with my thumbs.
She shivered, slowly collapsing forward onto the floor naturally.
“Back too, do my back. Hurry.”
Now openly directing me to her back.
But I hesitated. Massaging her back would erase those too. She hasn’t noticed yet?
I probed just in case.
“Any weird feelings or changes?”
“Dunno, body feels all loose. Anyway, press my back already. Hurry—if you do good, I’ll make you feel real good too.”
“Feel good how?”
“Yeah, you’ll love it. Sticking a rod in a hole, in and out.”
Just hearing it sounded amazing. True to her tan-line, tattooed, smoking delinquent vibe—open-minded as hell.
Fuck it, I thought, and pressed my palm to her back.
For back massage, use the broad heel of the palm.
Presses muscles nicely—feels good for recipient, saves effort for me.
Srrk, srrrk.
I swept from waist to back, loosening the whole thing. Her prone body twitched and quivered.
“Huu, haa, y-you’re good. Pretty good. Not as good as royal ones, but still pretty gooddd....”
She repeated “pretty good” like a parrot short on vocab. But her body heated up, sweat beading everywhere.
That sweat and my rubbing palms left her back tattoo-free and pristine.
“Haa, mmm, ngh....”
Still, my hands kept sweeping up her back and waist relentlessly. I pressed hard—abs—deep.
“Haaaak!”
Her misaligned spine cracked into place with a wood-crack.
“M-my baaaack.... It broke!?”
She freaked at the loud noise, thinking her back snapped.
Understandable for the clueless—sounded like broken bones.
“Not broken. Just straightened your spine.”
“Straightened...? Kinda feels super refreshing now.... What? How’d you...?”
“Want other spots done?”
I pressed hard with palm heels on her shoulders and neck too. Each crack like the ceiling collapsing made tattoo girl Antiope shudder big.
“Gyaaak, gyaah, hyaaaa....”
Her mouth spilled uncontrollable groans like she’d burst into tears any second.
“N-never felt this before.... Others too, others...? Here, here too....”
[Author's Note]
The cut-off felt a bit weird, so uploading one more...!!!